


Apnea

by Quicksilver_ink



Category: Suikoden III
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-21
Updated: 2009-09-21
Packaged: 2017-10-21 07:18:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/222396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quicksilver_ink/pseuds/Quicksilver_ink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Concerned about the burden his captain has inherited from her father, Borus seeks advice from the man who fought at Wyatt Lightfellow's side years ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apnea

"Never sleep with someone who snores."

Geddoe took in the affronted expression on Borus Redrum's face and realized he was drunker than he'd meant to be. He hadn't meant to voice that particular thought, or at least not in those words.

"Good advice under any circumstances," Queen cut in smoothly, her eyes gleaming with wicked laughter in the yellow lantern-light. "Although I would argue that sometimes there can be…compensations. Depending on the lover."

Her amusement made the Zexen testier. "Advice it may be, but it doesn't seem particularly relevant. And it's certainly not appropriate advice for me to relay to my lady captain." He started to rise, the bench scraping against the scrubbed wooden floor of Anne's bar. "If you were not willing to discuss this subject, you only had to say. I will not press you."

"Sit down, Lord Borus." Geddoe set his tankard aside. "I was thinking of something else."

He'd been surprised when the knight had approached him with his request. Granted, he'd figured at least one of the Zexen contingent would come seeking his counsel on the Rune-born immortality their captain was now burdened with, but he'd expected it to be Harras, or Sir Percival, or even Wyatt's daughter herself. Certainly not the noble-born, short-tempered knight who'd slaughtered civilians in Karaya. The two men had avoided each other since Budehuc had been named headquarters for the odd alliance. Surprised and just a little bit irritated, he had almost turned down the man's request – and then he'd looked up at Borus's face.

The blond knight had not forgotten the thrashing Geddoe had given him at Karaya; memory of the humiliation showed clearly in the flush of his face and ears. It was just as clear he was expecting to be turned down. But the man had made the request anyway, shelving his pride and speaking to Geddoe as a superior officer and social equal instead of a common mercenary. That had impressed him far more than the lovelorn sentiment - "Help me help her," was what _that_ had boiled down to.

And so Geddoe had found himself agreeing to tell the arrogant bastard all the painful little lessons he and Wyatt had had to learn the hard way.

They set a time – early evening – and Geddoe had showed up early, had a few beers with Queen before the Zexen arrived. He still wasn't sure if they'd been to pass the time or to take the edge off. Not for the first time he wished Wyatt was still around – he'd have been better at this.

Which was a foolish wish – wishing had never brought back the dead. Besides, if Wyatt were still around, there would be no need for this conversation.

Borus had resumed his seat and was watching him intently. Deciding that now was not the time to explain what he'd meant by the snoring remark, Geddoe started anew. "First piece of advice – immortality tends to breed patience. Complacence, too, and that's the one that's the problem."

"And it's often hard to tell the difference." Queen helped herself to Geddoe's beer. "Right now? Complacence," she added, when her captain made no move to regain his drink.

Geddoe shrugged, seeing no reason to elaborate. Borus was a knight, a warrior, and ought to know too well the dangers of complacence. His captain would as well. "Second: keep traveling. It's best not to spend too long in any one place."

"Because people will realize you don't age?" the knight hazarded, drumming his fingers on the scarred tabletop. He grimaced, testing one area that was evidently tacky. "Urgh, doesn't Anne wash these tables?"

"Every year, regular," Queen said, and downed the last of Geddoe's beer. "Barkeep! Same again!"

Borus attempted to rub his hand off on the bench. "Is it still important to keep the Rune secret, now that Bishop Sasarai knows who has them?"

"There will always be people who seek power for the sake of having power," Queen observed. "Not all of them are Harmonian."

Borus nodded. "I take your meaning. The Zexen Council tends to attract such individuals." He took a sip of his wine, and made a face. "Even with the worst of the lot arrested for treason, Salome's going to have a devil of a time convincing them the True Water Rune isn't property of the state." He set down his cup.

"Don't forget history – dozens of wars are named for True Runes. And I don't think it's because they sat on the sidelines and cheered," Queen said sourly. "This is the _second_ Fire Bringer War, after all."

Borus grimaced. Geddoe closed his eyes briefly, thinking of the torches in the dark, the beat of the Safir war drums… _An old man's body, still in the moonlight; the breathless corpses of young men in the daylight…_ He shoved away the memory. There was still the man's earlier question to answer. "The reason it's important to keep moving… if you don't, you'll – she'll – see people _are_ aging."

"But that doesn't seem so ba-" the knight said, then broke off. His jaw tightened, and Geddoe knew it wasn't just because a table of Lizards had broken out into a ragged victory chant. "Never mind. I see your point. Go on."

Anne sashayed by with a tray of mugs balanced deftly on one hand. She swooped two down to their table without spilling so much as a drop or perturbing those still on the tray. "Lord Borus, you haven't even finished a glass yet," she said reprovingly. "Chishan wine not good enough for you?"

"No, no, it's fine, thank you," Borus said, waving her off. "I'm just… distracted tonight."

Anne frowned, but accepted the answer and moved on to the next table.

Geddoe took a long, thoughtful pull of his refilled drink. "Clothes. Boots. They always seem to wear out faster than you expect. Weapons, too, and that's the bigger problem." He figured such a well-dressed nobleman would realize how conspicuous out-of-date clothes could be.

The background chorus grew louder, Zexens and Karayans joining the Lizards. Apparently all were far enough on the go that none of them seemed to care what the actual words were, or bothered for any sort of uniform tempo. One infantryman was belting out "Mazie of the Battlefield" instead. Queen grinned sardonically and signed out the beat with her mug for a few measures.

"It's scarcely an hour past sunset and already they're this drunk?" Borus groused. "It seems we're in for a night-long cacophony at the rate they're going. I can't imagine anyone roomed above this place will get any sleep for hours."

Geddoe shrugged. He'd learned long ago how to sleep in less-than-quiet circumstances. It was the quieter nights that…

"Long night," Queen agreed, her voice a little slurred. "Was a long war. Does you good to celebrate, sometimes. Don't forget to take the time and smell the music. Or roses," she added after a thoughtful pause. "Except they don't smell very good." Her face darkened. "They only look like the should. S'like all of that damn valley."

 _Don't forget you're not the only one haunted by the past,_ Geddoe thought to himself, watching Queen chase the ghosts of her childhood down the paths of recollection. There was no point in saying it to Borus, though – it was something Wyatt's daughter would either remember from her own mortal years, or not. He thought she probably would remember. Her father had never forgotten.

Sometimes he thought Wyatt had been the only reason he himself had remembered.

Aloud, he said, "Immortality doesn't mean you won't be crippled, and injuries add up over the years – about the only thing you won't get is arthritis. You can still lose limbs; they don't grow back."

Queen snorted and gestured with her mug. "Case in point, One-Eye here."

"The same thing that keeps you from getting old keeps your teeth from rotting, but that doesn't stop them from getting chipped or knocked out." He took a long drink of beer to show he was done with that line of thought.

Borus was plainly startled, then repulsed – Geddoe thought it might be at the thought of Chris Lightfellow as hollow-gummed and toothless as an old woman. Good or bad teeth tended to be a reflection of social class in more striated societies, like Zexen, too – so maybe it was the thought of the black-toothed beggars lining the dockside streets in the capital that was bothering the nobleman.

"Anything else? True Runes ward off sickness, too, but what about poison? Or infected wounds?" Borus asked, worry growing on his face.

Queen snorted. "Don't look so frantic. Mortality doesn't do much to keep those off either. Your precious captain's no safer than the rest of us on that front – an' no more vulnerable either." She swayed slightly in her seat, lifting her mug again. "Damn. Empty. Geddoe, you going to be done any time soon? I got a bet to settle with that merchant kid, I don't want him vanishing before he pays up." She put her head down on her arms, oblivious to the sticky table. "Wake me when you're done." She closed her eyes and almost immediately began to snore, oblivious to the background racket as a drunken Duck fell off a table and crashed into a small knot of Harmonian soldiers.

"I never take a chance on wound-rot," Geddoe told the knight. "I don't know."

"So… don't be complacent, travel frequently, keep the Rune a secret if she can, clothes and things wear out faster than expected, injuries last, don't lose teeth, no arthritis, no toothaches, usual risk of poison and probably infected wounds." Borus ticked the points off on his fingers. "Right. Is that it? Will she need disguises or anything?"

Geddoe shrugged. "She might dye her hair. Silver hair and purple eyes stand out."

Borus nodded, a quirked smile on his face. Geddoe thought he might be mocking himself, but he didn't know the man well enough to be sure.

Anne was reading the riot act now, breaking up the fight that had followed the Duck's drunken plunge. Cowed, a number of the drunker revelers made their way out of the bar.

Geddoe took another long draught of his beer. It was his imagination that the shadows were growing closer, he was sure, but it made the tavern feel crowded. Too many people, laughing and drinking – but gone in the blink of an eye. "One last thing. She should learn to always get a good night's sleep."

Borus blinked. "But isn't that good advice for everyone?"

"Tell her anyway." Geddoe finished the dregs of his mug, rose from his bench, and walked off without another word. He slipped out in the wake of the exiting drunkards. The remaining crowd was relatively quiet now, either out of embarrassment or fear of the Karayan bartender's temper.

The mercenary was gone before Borus linked it to the man's earliest comment. _He needn't have ended with an insult,_ the knight thought peevishly. He pushed back the bench, intending to leave.

The scrape of the bench on the old wooden floor made Queen shift slightly; she was still snoring, head on the table. Borus stopped. Geddoe had not honored her request to be woken when he left. It seemed too rude to simply leave her, but she stank of alcohol and her hair was greasy. Borus recoiled at the thought of touching her to wake her.

Queen's snores stopped abruptly. Was it just the dim lighting, or was she actually motionless? In the unnatural silence that remained in the bar, Borus was struck by a fear that in her inebriated sleep, she'd stopped breathing. He shook her shoulder roughly.

"Ngg… what? Ace? Huh?" The mercenary sat up. "Oh. Damn. Geddoe left without me. Thanks for waking me." She gave him a wry grin. "I guess you knights can be all right sometimes."

Borus watched her leave, his mind once again on Geddoe's first comment.

Noise was picking up again as Borus paid his tab, and he could hear clearly that much more raucous celebrations were taking place outside. The night was warm, and it was dark enough now to see through the windows that bonfires had been lit outside. Noise, light, movement – unmuted signs of life. Borus stepped through the door, towards the calamity of assorted revelers of all shapes and species.


End file.
